Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
As I’m spritzing my favorite perfume on my neck, my roomie strolls into our dorm room. “You look amazing!” she enthuses.
“You think so?” I ask, and do a little spin to show off my outfit. I’m wearing a little black dress, patterned tights, and booties. My hair curls all the way down my back, held back only by a black satin headband. I even broke out the red lipstick--long-wearing and kiss-proof, of course.
“What’s the occasion?” Kristy asks, plopping down onto her bed.
I can’t help but smile. “I’m having dinner with Mike and Scott at that new Italian place down the street. They have a back room so no one will see us.”
For a split second, an emotion I can’t place flits across Kristy’s face. It isn’t the excited grin I was expecting from her. Instead, it’s something far more strange. Her brows furrow and her lips twist into a sneer. Could she be jealous?
It’s gone, though, as quickly as it came. I shake my head a little. Maybe I was imagining it.
“That sounds nice!” Kristy says, with no hint of anything but excitement in her voice. I frown at myself in the mirror, feeling guilty for thinking that my best friend would be anything but supportive of me. I definitely imagined her sneer and put it out of my mind.
“I think it will be,” I say. “Are you doing anything fun tonight?”
Kristy holds up her laptop and grins. “Just watching Netflix instead of studying.”
I laugh. “Sounds like a good time. No dates tonight?”
“Um, no,” Kristy says, staring at her laptop. “Haven’t had one for about a week or so.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little bad that I haven’t noticed. “I’m sorry. I’m sure the boys will be banging down your door again soon.”
She nods but her expression is distracted as she surfs Netflix, trying to find something interesting to watch. Meanwhile, I grab my purse and coat and head out the door, saying a quick goodbye. My mind’s eye betrays me and for a moment, I see Kristy’s sneering face again. I hesitate for a second, almost turning back to say something. But then, I shake my head and close the door behind me. It was just my imagination, I’m sure.
“Are you going to try this?” Scott asks.
“If you insist,” I reply with a smile.
I swirl my fork into a pile of pasta and stick it in my mouth. I melt immediately. There are few things I love more than butter and carbs, and enjoying butter and carbs alongside my two favorite men is nothing short of heaven.
The restaurant has only been open a few weeks and we were lucky to snag one of their back rooms. The lighting is dim and moody, casting Mike and Scott in a sexy glow. My men have never looked more handsome in their black jackets, with the white of their collars emphasizing the strong bronze of their throats. I long to press my mouth to those throats but giggle again, knowing my time will come later in the evening.
“This is amazing,” I sigh happily.
“What, us being together or the pasta?” Mike retorts.
“Why not both?”
Mike reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “I agree,” he says with a dazzling grin. “Although us being together definitely trumps the pasta.”
“Ehhh...” I say, appearing unconvinced, and we laugh again.
“I have definitely carb-loaded today,” Scott says, leaning back in his chair to place his hands on his muscular stomach. “But it feels good.”
“You have to sometimes,” Mike says. “Just for the nutrients, if nothing else.”
“I do it all the time,” I chime in with a smile. “Pasta is my favorite!”
Both men eye my luscious curves appreciatively and a flush forms on my chest.
“And it looks amazing on you, sweetheart. By the way, are we going to get some dessert?” Mike growls, looking hopeful.
“Yes please!” I cry, grabbing at the menu. There’s a chocolatey-cherry cheesecake, or ice cream with warm fudge, or some kind of bread pudding that looks absolutely divine. My mouth waters at the thought of any of them gracing my plate.
“As soon as the waiter comes back,” I say, “tell him we want… um…”
“One of each?” Mike suggests.
Scott looks skeptical, but I clap my hands in childish glee. “One of each! One of each!”
“I guess there are three of us, so it could work,” Scott says, and Mike and I high-five in victory.
I especially love the rapport that we have as a group. One minute, we’re joking and teasing each other like best friends. The next, one of their hands is on my inner thigh under the table, making my heart beat faster and my face blush furiously. I’m so grateful that we’re comfortable enough to be friends and passionate enough to be lovers. I’ve never quite experienced this type of perfect relationship balance, and it’s everything for which I could have hoped.